


Legally Wed

by andimeantittosting (Saylee)



Series: Andimeantittosting's Harlequin fics [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1800s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, F/M, Lawyer Sam Winchester, Marriage of Convenience, Period-Typical Ableism, Secret Identity, elopement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting
Summary: When Eileen Leahy discovers that her cousin plans to keep control of her fortune, even after she comes of age, she is incensed. Her plan to retain her independence will force her to betray Sam Winchester’s trust, but though he is hurt, Sam is still determined to do the right thing and help her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Saileen Big Bang](https://saileenbigbang.tumblr.com/). Many thanks to the organizers of the challenge! Many thanks also to my beta reader, [wetkitchenpaint](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wetkitchenpaint/pseuds/wetkitchenpaint)
> 
> The beautiful art was created by [Blu](https://blusart.tumblr.com/). [Check out the art master post](https://blusart.tumblr.com/post/171384710279/destielblu-illustrations-for-the).
> 
> This is the Saileen companion piece to my Destiel Harlequin Challenge fic, [With Sure Certainty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11374761/chapters/25466511). The two stories take place over approximately the same stretch of time, but you don't have to read one to understand the other. The idea for this fic originated from one of the bonus romance novel cover blurbs I included with the epilogue of that fic:
> 
> _Deaf from infancy and alone in the world, Eileen Leahy is nonetheless determined to recover her family's lost legacy. Her quarry is a client of promising young lawyer Samuel Winchester, whom the spirited Irish beauty convinces to hire her on as a housekeeper, in order to find the evidence she needs._
> 
>  
> 
> _Sam Winchester is immediately captivated by his lovely new housekeeper, and his infatuation only grows when he discovers that she has a brilliant legal mind as well. Conscious of his position as her employer, he dares not make a move, until a threat from the man who stole her legacy leaves them with only one option: Marriage!_
> 
>  
> 
>  **A quick note on historical accuracy:** While research was definitely involved in writing this fic, ultimately my goal was to capture the feel of a regency romance novel, and in places, strict historical accuracy has been sacrificed in the name of story.

Sam Winchester was used to a certain degree of disorder in his life. Growing up, his Uncle Bobby had grumbled and groused whenever the maids disturbed the carefully organized chaos of his living spaces, and they had soon learned to avoid those rooms altogether. It had only gotten worse once Sam’s brother, Dean, had left for sea. Sam was willing to admit that his habits of tidiness had not improved while at school, nor in the early days of his career, when he had inhabited a respectable boarding house. Rather, the small spaces had kept the worst of the clutter in check.

Now, however, he surveyed his study with a rueful eye. Piles of books towered precariously on the edge of his desk, and papers were scattered haphazardly over every flat surface. A tea-tray, the dregs staining the cup, had been perched on the side table for at least two days. If he were to venture from the room, he knew the disorder spread to the rest of the house. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it was time to hire a housekeeper.

Sighing, he gathered up the papers into several neat stacks, and grabbed up the tea tray to bring it down to the kitchen. It was unusual, he conceded, as he scrubbed the teapot, that he kept no servants, other than the maid from next door who came in twice a week to clean, but he had been too focused on establishing himself in the law to worry about the trivialities of daily life. His meals came from a nearby public house, or less frequently from his club, and he darned his own socks and brewed his own tea, and that had been that.

Lately, however, he had begun to attract several important clients, and it wouldn’t do to appear less than respectable. Not to mention, with peace newly declared, it seemed likely that his brother would soon be putting in an extended shore leave, and would be full of wisecracks about getting Sam’s home in ship-shape. With that in mind, he set the clean tea things aside, and returned to his study to pen a note to a local employment agency, to be sent out the next day.

Alas, the next day dawned with an unexpected client at nine, and time only to eat a cold roll from the larder in between appointments. It was well past noon when he finally shook the hand of Mr. Davies, genial man of business to a Mr. Arthur Ketch, and ushered him out the door. Returning to his office to go through his notes, he spied the envelope he had intended to send. With any luck, one of the local boys would be about, and interested in earning a shiny penny in exchange for delivering the note.

Stepping outside his door, he spied none of the usual sons of the respectable families that were his neighbours. In fact, the street was singularly quiet. A quick glance at his pocket watch informed him that it was much later than he had supposed, nearly the dinner hour, and those boys had undoubtedly been called indoors to scrub their hands and faces before their meals.

There was a small, grassy park a short distance down the street, and here he saw the only signs of life. A dark-haired woman, simply, but neatly clad, sat on a bench, head bent over her book. More interestingly, for Sam’s purposes, a young boy had seemingly set up shop earlier that day, selling his basket of apples, but now lounged on the grass, munching thoughtfully on one of his own wares. The lad perked up and scrambled to his feet when he saw Sam approaching.

“Could I interest you in an apple, sir? Best you’ve ever tasted, and only a ha’penny to boot.”

Sam obligingly examined the apples. No doubt, they were from last autumn’s crop, but they’d been stored well and looked plump and appetizing. He handed over the requested coin, and took his pick.

“There’s another penny for you if you’ll deliver this note to Jarvis’s employment agency on Cannon Street when you are done your business here.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy nodded smartly. “Consider it done.”

Leaving the envelope in the care of the lad, now a penny and a half richer, Sam turned back towards his door, taking a satisfyingly crisp bite out of his apple.

\---

From her position on her bench, Eileen Leahy watched the tall man until his door slipped shut behind him, then rose, straightening her skirts to approach the boy. From where she had been sitting, she had been unable to properly read their lips, but she had seen a note and a coin exchange hands, and could guess the gist of their conversation.

The question was whether there was anything in the note that might be useful to her, and there was one simple way to find out.

Eileen had, in fact, been watching the man’s house for some time, since he had greeted Mick Davies with a firm handshake in the doorway. She had trailed Mick there from her cousin’s ostentatious Mayfair home, and once the door had closed behind him, had crept closer to examine the brass plate which proclaimed the dwelling the office of one Samuel Winchester, solicitor at law. Thereafter, she had taken herself to the nearby park and virtuously buried herself in her book until Mr. Davies had emerged, devoid of the papers he had arrived with.

She had remained, wracking her brains for a way inside that house, in order to examine the papers Mr. Davies had left behind. She could not be certain that they pertained to her, but if Cousin Arthur was engaging a new lawyer so soon after his recent threats, well, it was only prudent to make certain.

Tucking her book under her arm, she rose from her seat. The boy grinned brightly, and extended his basket of fruit.

“Another apple, ma’am?” he asked when she was close enough to read his lips. She had bought one earlier to nibble on while she waited, and she cheerfully pulled out the required coin now.

“Did that gentleman just now give you a note to deliver?” she inquired as they made the exchange.

“Yes’m. He asked me to take it to Mr. Jarvis’s employment agency.”

“I know the place,” Eileen said, though in truth she wasn’t familiar with the establishment. “I’ll be passing it on my way home. Why don’t I deliver it for you?” If the contents turned out to be useless to her, no doubt she could find someone to direct her to the proper address.

The boy looked between her and the envelope in his charge, frowning dubiously. He chewed on his lip, torn between the importance of the duty and the desire to avoid going out of his way. To sweeten the deal, Eileen pulled another ha’penny from her reticule, and the boy’s eyes lit up.

“Now that you mention it, it is awfully far in the other direction for me.”

The exchange was made, and Eileen went on her way. Several streets over, she drew to a stop, and withdrew the note, carefully unfolding it to read the contents.

\---

Sam was in the middle of a breakfast of tea and toast the next morning, when the sound of the bell echoed down the hall to where he stood in the kitchen. Laying his cup aside, he brushed a few crumbs from his cravat, as he hurried to greet his caller.

He opened the door to reveal a woman, soberly dressed and with her dark hair pulled into a smooth, no-nonsense knot. Nevertheless, she was young and her eyes looked as if she smiled. She extended her hand to him, and something in him liked her immediately.

“I was sent by the agency,” she said, by way of introduction, in an accent Sam could not quite place. “I was given to understand that you required a housekeeper.”

“Yes, of course.” Sam cleared his throat. “Please come in. We can discuss your employment in my study. I’m Samuel Winchester.”

“Eileen Leahy.” She stepped into the hall, allowing the door to close behind her. “Mrs. Leahy,” she added in tones clearly meant to repress any untoward intentions

“Of course, Mrs. Leahy.” Sam tamped down the part of him that was determined to admire her. Whatever those with more money than morals might do with their servants, there were lines a good man did not cross. “Let me show you to the study. It’s just through here, after the parlor,” he added, already turning to lead the way.”

Mrs. Leahy’s voice reached him, sounding faintly amused. “I’m afraid I can’t understand you. I read lips, and I cannot see your face.”

He turned to face her, feeling inexplicably sheepish. “You are deaf?” That explained the accent he hadn’t been able to identify.

“I am,” she confirmed, “though I can assure you it won’t affect my work.”

“Do you use Braidwood’s combined system?” he asked eagerly. He had read about it in college and had found it fascinating, even attempting to teach himself some of the signs that had been described in the book.

Mrs. Leahy had clearly not expected the question. “Somewhat,” she answered after a moment’s hesitation, “though my aunt and I also have private signs we use between ourselves. You are familiar with Braidwood?”

Sam ducked his head. “I’ve read about him.” Dredging up his memories of what he had studied, he tried painstakingly to shape his fingers to say, “It is nice to meet you.” Judging by the look of carefully restrained amusement on her face, he had not succeeded. “Ah well.” He grinned ruefully. “I’ve never had occasion to practice.”

\---

“I could teach you,” Eileen surprised herself by offering. “When I am not occupied by my housekeeping duties that is.” It was a foolish offer. She needed to focus her energies on thwarting Cousin Arthur. If the papers Mr. Davies had brought with him yesterday proved useful, she might be able to slip out in the night with no one the wiser about her brief foray into service.

Truly, there was no cause to treat this as if it would be a long-term position, and yet, she had been touched by Mr. Winchester’s attempts to sign, especially to someone whom he believed to be a mere servant. It spoke well of him, even if his signs had been - well, a proper lady ought to have been shocked by what he had accidently said, but Eileen had grown up by the side of her Aunt Lillian, a decidedly plain-spoken, occasionally earthy, woman. A little accidental vulgarity would hardly send her into the vapours.

In the study, Mr. Winchester seated himself behind a large oak desk, and gestured for her to take one of the comfortable facing armchairs.

“Will you be wanting a letter of character?” she asked. She had spent the previous evening forging just such a document, and went now to draw it from her reticule, but Mr. Winchester waved her off.

“I believe that coming from Mr. Jarvis’s establishment is recommendation enough.”

She withdrew her hand, unsure if she felt relieved, or disappointed that her hard work would be going to waste. “In that case, perhaps you could tell me about the duties you require?” She would spend the day performing those chores, then slip back into the study in the evening, find the information she needed, and be gone before dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I was sent by the agency. I was given to understand that you required a housekeeper.” - This is a little nod to Jeeves and Wooster, one of the first fandoms I fell in love with.
> 
> Thomas Braidwood was the founder of Britain's first school for the deaf.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out, Eileen did not find an opportunity to examine Mr. Davies’ papers that evening. Samuel Winchester, for all his apparent virtues as an employer, did not keep a tidy house, and her foray into the kitchen to prepare a luncheon had turned up nearly empty shelves, which had necessitated a trip to the market to stock the larder. When she was finally able to present a meal tray to her employer, he had looked up from his work, faintly startled.

“Is it time to eat already?” he asked, running his ink-stained hands through his hair, which he wore almost disreputably long.

“It’s quite late, actually,” she answered apologetically. “The larder was all but bare.”

“Oh, well,” he shrugged it off. “Not to worry. I would likely have missed eating altogether if you had not brought me this. Thank you. It looks delicious.” His genuine pleasure brought colour to her cheeks against her will. She excused herself with an awkward curtsy, and returned to the kitchen to swallow down her own meal before turning her attention to the state of the house.

She had no illusions that setting things to rights would be easy, though she fancied herself more prepared for the task than another young lady of her station. While her Aunt Lillian’s household had not been completely devoid of servants during her youth, the two women had largely shifted for themselves, as Lillian preferred to put her modest portion towards the care and feeding of her dogs, a virtual pack of wolfhounds whom she doted on as much as she did the niece entrusted to her care.

By the time she had tackled the first few rooms and prepared and then tidied away dinner, she was weary and aching, longing for a bed. It was just as well, she promised herself. It would be less suspicious if she were to take a day or two before she attempted to infiltrate her employer’s private records. She ignored the dull pang she felt at deceiving Mr. Winchester, with his kind eyes and gentle smile. It was necessary. She would not allow Arthur to cheat her out of her independence, nor would she leave her family’s tenants to his tender mercies.

The next day was much the same, and she crawled into her bed with a grateful sigh at the end of it, resigned to waiting another day to proceed with her mission. On the third day, she nearly made progress, slipping into the study after her employer should have gone to bed. It was one of the rooms she had not had a chance to tackle yet, beyond some basic dusting to render it palatable to Mr. Winchester’s clients, and documents were sorted into messy stacks on and about the desk. Picking a stack that looked recent, she began sorting through it, straightening papers and organizing them as she went. She had just spotted the name Arthur Ketch near the top of a page when she was startled by a tap on her shoulder. She whirled around to face Mr. Winchester, and pasted a welcoming smile on her face to hide her nerves.

“Sorry to startle you.” He rubbed a large hand over the back of his neck. “But what are you doing?”

“I’m just tidying these for you,” she lied smoothly.

“No, I meant, why are you working at this time of night? Your evenings are your own, and this filing is really something I ought to do myself.”

“It’s really no bother,” Eileen protested.

“I promise, I will tidy these papers myself tomorrow. Though if you really are at loose ends, maybe you would teach me some of Braidwood’s signs?”

She couldn’t help it. With that eager expression, he resembled nothing so much as an overgrown puppy, and one couldn’t grow up in Lillian O’Grady’s household without developing at least a passing fondness for dogs. She resigned herself to leaving her search undone for the night.

“Why don’t we move to the kitchen? I can make us some tea, and we can have a lesson.”

\---

If Sam Winchester were less conscious of his position as her employer, he might have declared himself enchanted by his housekeeper. He would hardly have been the first gentleman to discover that a pair of fine eyes was just as compelling on the help as on the grandest of ladies. He was, however, not the sort of gentleman who believed that the help were there to see to any and all of a man’s needs. For that reason, he had spent the past days firmly tamping down the attraction he could not help but feel. He was not enchanted.

He did, however, like her very much.

“Like this?” he asked, as he shaped his fingers into an approximation of the sign Mrs. Leahy had just demonstrated.

“More like this.” She showed him again, and he copied her clumsily. She bit back a giggle. “My apologies.”

“No, no,” Sam shook his head sheepishly. “By all means, laugh at me. I’m making an absolute cake of myself.”

Her eyes sparkled. “You’re not doing so badly. Here, may I?” When Sam nodded his consent, she reached out and took his hand in her smaller ones, guiding his fingers through the motions. “Like that.” She smiled at him, her hand lingering, and he felt a frisson through his whole body. “Try again.”

She withdrew her hand, and this time he was able to replicate the movement smoothly.

“There you are!” She beamed at him, and Sam caught himself gazing at her, probably smiling helplessly as well. He gave himself an internal shake. He was no doubt overstepping his bounds.

He cleared his throat. “You’re an excellent teacher. I feel like I’m all paws.”

\---

“You mentioned earlier that you have signs just between yourself and an aunt?” Mr. Winchester asked a good while later, as Eileen poured the cooling dregs of the tea. “How did that come about?”

“Oh, that.” Eileen took a sip of the bitter drink and made a face. “Should I put on another kettle? My aunt took me in after my parents died, and she had no idea how to get on with a small child, let alone one who could not hear her.”

Though her Uncle Ketch, Cousin Arthur’s father, had been made her guardian, as her nearest paternal relation - albeit not too very near - his wife had objected strongly to Eileen’s presence in the household. Once Miss Hess of the Highbury Hesses, she thought a great deal of her consequence, and felt that an Irish child - no matter how well-heeled - and one she had often labelled defective at that, was a poor connection to admit to, let alone to have in the household, rubbing elbows with her own precious babes.

Instead, it had been suggested that Eileen might be happier to remain in Ireland, and that one of her mother’s people might be happy to take her on. Lillian O’Grady, Eileen’s mother’s elder sister, had been widowed young, with no progeny of her own, and no great interest in children. Nevertheless, she had opened her home and her rough affections to the toddling girl, and was fond of saying that they had always rubbed along together well enough.

“She lives a very rural life,” she continued, rinsing the teapot and filling it with fresh leaves, “and had never encountered Braidwood, so we did the best we could to create a language between us. It wasn’t until two years later that we discovered Dr. Watson’s - Braidwood’s nephew’s - book. We both learned the combined method, but from time to time, we still speak to each other in our own language.”

The kettle whistled as it came to a boil, and she poured it into the teapot with a towel wrapped around the handle. She inhaled the fragrant steam, and set the pot back on the table. “Shall we continue our lesson?”

By the time Eileen yawned, and Mr. Winchester suggested they both ought to retire, the lesson had continued late into the evening, and he had made significant progress. “Get some sleep,” he had said, signing along slowly, but without much stumbling. “You work very hard.”

She was warmed by his concern. “Goodnight, Mr. Winchester.”

He paused in the doorway to cast her one last gentle smile. “Goodnight Mrs. Leahy.”

When he had departed, she had stifled a yawn in her hand, and banked the fire, taking up a candle as she retreated to the cozy room off the kitchen which made up the housekeeper’s quarters. There would be no searching tonight, she thought ruefully. She was far too tired to wait until she was sure Mr. Winchester would be asleep, and she had to be up early to prepare the morning meal before his first clients put in their appearance. Tomorrow evening, she vowed.

Instead, the next two evenings were given over to lessons as well. It was extremely vexing how much she liked Sam Winchester. He was kind-hearted, and eager to learn, and always genuinely interested in what she had to say, rather than dismissing her as any man in his position might do with a mere servant. It was hard to resist his calm good nature, and indeed, she would not have wanted to do so, if only Cousin Arthur could have been trusted. But if he could, she would never have met Mr. Winchester, and it would all be moot anyway. Braiding her hair for bed, she promised herself she truly would stop allowing him to distract her from her purpose, and determined that she would use the next night to find time to view those pages.


	3. Chapter 3

The bell rang early the next morning, and Sam answered it to be met with a widely grinning face.

“Sammy!” his brother exclaimed, grabbing him up in a firm, back-patting embrace. “Is it ever good to see you! Can you believe it’s peace at last?”

“It’s Sam,” he groused, dutifully playing the role of beleaguered younger sibling, even as he returned Dean’s embrace heartily. “Come in. How long are you on shore leave?”

“Actually,” Dean said, following Sam into the entry, “I’ve sold out.” He surveyed the hall, already noticeably more welcoming thanks to Mrs. Leahy’s work. “This is a good house you have here. You’re moving up in the world.”

Proud though he was of his new establishment, Sam was not to be distracted from the news his brother had revealed so casually. “You’ve sold out?” he demanded. “Why?”

Dean shrugged. “Oh, well,” he said, aiming for casual. “I’ve made my fortune, and with Old Boney in Exile, there will be less action worth seeing. Besides,” and here he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, “you know I was never really intended for the Navy. It just made the most sense after - well, just after.”

Sam nodded. He was a little hazy on the details of what exactly had ended Dean’s employment at Milton Park. He gathered it had something to do with false allegations of theft. Whatever had happened, Dean had returned to Uncle Bobby’s determined to take the quickest route out of England.

“What will you do now?” he asked instead.

“I haven’t decided,” Dean was saying, when the door from the kitchen opened and Mrs. Leahy emerged. “Who’s this?” Dean asked Sam. “Never tell me you got married while I was at sea.”

Sam could feel himself colouring to the roots of his hair. “Dean, this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Leahy. Mrs. Leahy, my brother, Captain Singer. Mrs. Leahy is deaf,” he added for his brother’s benefit, “but she can read your lips.”

“Charmed.” Dean bowed over her hand, tossing her a wink as he straightened up. Sam was relieved to see that though her lips twitched in amusement, Mrs. Leahy did not seem at all inclined to giggle or swoon over his brother’s antics. Still, he fixed him with his best judgemental glare.

“Really, Dean?” he sighed.

“Don’t worry,” Dean assured him lightly, “Mrs. Leahy’s virtue is safe with me.”

“Believe me,” she said drily, “It was never in any danger.”

Sam couldn’t help it. He burst into a loud guffaw.

“Dean will be staying with us for some time, I think,” he told her, when he caught his breath.

\---

Eileen could not help but like the friendly and unaffected Captain Singer - though not as much as she liked his brother - but his presence in the household was a significant hindrance. It was not that he created much extra work, except insofar as an additional body in the house must create work, for years of shipboard life had developed a much more fastidious approach to tidiness than his brother possessed. But if she had hoped that he might keep Mr. Winchester out to all hours at his club, or otherwise occupied, so that she might explore the study in peace, she had been sorely mistaken.

In fact, the brothers had spent several evenings sitting up late and reminiscing. More than once, when she brought in more tea, or more brandy, Captain Singer had cheerfully regaled her with tales of their misspent youth. At first, he had been amused to embarrass his brother - the time a young Sam had broken his arm jumping off a roof in an attempt to fly featured heavily - but soon he had changed tacks, his stories turning more and more to ones designed to extol his brother’s many virtues.

“He was a scrawny kid back then, though you wouldn’t know it now,” he tells her. “And always had his nose in some book. But scrappy. Always ready to defend anyone who needed it. The local squire’s sons liked to go after the younger ones, and he’d take them on himself, so the others could get away. And after my first position, well, ended badly, he was ready to march down to Milton Park and fight the earl himself if need be.” He ducked his head, looking troubled, then shook it, and looked up again, eyes bright. “But that’s my brother for you, Sammy, patron saint of the downtrodden.”

Mr. Winchester rolled his eyes at his brother, but flushed when Eileen told him, “I admire that.”

\---

Sam was hard at work one afternoon, when Dean burst into his study in a flurry of energy.

“I’ve rented a house,” he declared, settling himself into the chair Sam reserved for clients with a thump.

“There’s no need for that. I’m happy to have you stay here as long as you wish to stay in London,” Sam hastened to assure his brother.

Dean’s jaw flexed. “It’s, ah, not in London.”

That was unexpected. “Where is it?”

Dean’s gaze skittered to the side. “Place called Scribe’s Hall. It’s -”

“It’s right beside Milton Park!” Sam exclaimed. “How on earth did you come to rent that of all houses?”

Dean shrugged, affecting nonchalance, though Sam could see the tense set of his shoulders. “I ran into the owner while I was out with Admiral Cain. He was looking for a tenant.”

“Yes, but there?” Sam sprung to his feet to pace a tight circle on the wine coloured rug. 

“What do you want me to say, Sammy?”

"Explain to me again how you came to rent a house within a few short miles of Milton Park." He saw Dean’s wistful glance at the decanter of whiskey he kept on the sideboard for clients, and glared. Thankfully, just then there was a light tapping on the door, and Mrs. Leahy entered, bearing the tea tray. 

Almost immediately, he felt himself relax, her presence cooling and collected. "Thank you, Mrs. Leahy." He smiled his gratitude, forgetting Dean’s presence for a brief moment, while she returned the look with an almost fond one of her own.

His distraction was brief. All too soon, Mrs. Leahy excused herself with a quick curtsy, leaving Sam to seriously question his brother’s judgement.

\---

When Captain Singer had first arrived, the length of his visit had been indefinite. It was understood that he would remain until such time as he decided how best to establish himself outside of the Navy. There had been no signs of discord between the brothers, and much joy in being together after years of only infrequent meetings. For that reason, Eileen was surprised when Mr. Winchester came upon her in the kitchen one morning, and announced that his brother intended to depart the next day.

He made this announcement with a pensive frown, and a distant look to his eyes, so she kindly steered him to a seat at the worktable, and pressed a cup of tea into his hands.

“You look troubled,” she observed, sitting across from him. “You do not like your brother to be going away again so soon.”

Mr. Winchester heaved a heavy sigh. “Yes and no. It is more that I do not like where he is going.”

Eileen poured her own cup of tea. When Mr. Winchester did not elaborate, she signed, “Go on.”

“Dean has rented Scribe’s Hall, which is very near neighbours with the principle seat of the Earl of Milton,” he explained. “The Shurleys of Milton Park - Dean has history with that family. He was employed there for some time in his youth, with the intention of taking over from the land steward in the future. Instead he came home wild with plans to change his name and depart England forever, with some story about being falsely accused of theft and turned off over it, and hurting more than I have ever seen him. I still do not know the truth of what went on.”

“But you are concerned. You don’t like to see him throw himself back in harm’s way.” 

“Precisely. But pardon me, I should not be burdening you with all of this.”

“Nonsense. We are friends, are we not? I am happy to listen - or not listen as it were - to your troubles if it eases your mind.”

“My friends call me Sam,” Mr. Winchester offered, then a moment later stammered, “I’m sorry. That was wildly inappropriate, was it not? You mustn’t feel obliged. I am terribly sorry if I offended you.”

“Mr. Winchester. Sam. You may call me Eileen.” When he met her eyes, surprised, she smiled gently and demonstrated the sign she used for her name. Sam copied her, and this sign he got right on the first try.

\---

On Captain Singer’s last evening in town, Eileen finally got the opportunity she had been waiting for, and found a strange reluctance had taken her over. Mr. Winchester - Sam - had taken his brother for a farewell supper and drinks at his club, and she would be alone in the house for hours. Faced with a clear shot at her objective, however, Eileen had let herself be sidetracked by numerous small household tasks - a need to dust here, to rearrange there.

“You are being ridiculous,” she admonished herself, after she had spent a good ten minutes fussing with the arrangement of candles on the drawing room mantle. “He invited you to call him Sam, and suddenly you can’t do what needs to be done?”

Finally, taking her will in both hands, she marched herself into the study. Sam had been true to his word, and the drifts of paper had all been filed away neatly in the cabinet, only one folder laying open on the desktop. She made a careful note of the placement of everything; if she disturbed as little as possible, perhaps Sam would not even notice her betrayal.

It was the work of only a moment to locate Arthur’s file and extract it from the cabinet. She brought it to the heavy desk and spread it out on top of the documents Sam had been working on. Flipping through it uncovered a number of documents related to his various accounts and properties, including the deed for the Hall in Ireland, and her own father’s will. There was nothing, however, that gave any insight into Arthur’s next move, nothing that she could act upon.

Feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration, she closed the file and secreted it back into its place in the cabinet. She turned back to the desk to straighten the papers, and her eye was caught by a clause halfway down a page. Curious, she could not help herself from reading through the will from the beginning, tapping her tongue against her teeth when she reached the clause in question. Undoubtedly, there was a loophole. Before she could think better of it, she had grabbed Sam’s quill and made a note in the margin. Sam would not want to put his signature to a document that could be so easily be subverted, she justified. 

But she had let her interest take her too far. Determinedly, she lay the pages aside, and as she did so, noticed a small appointment book open just beside the folder. There, not three days hence, the words “Mr. Ketch - two p.m.” were scratched in. If Arthur had another appointment with Sam, then perhaps she could find out something useful to her. And if that meant spending further days in Sam’s company, she could not pretend that that did not have its own allure.


	4. Chapter 4

Replete with the eggs and ham Eileen had served for breakfast, Sam settled himself at his desk. He reached for the will he had been working on the day before, only to find that the page had been marked up in a tidy hand. His eyebrows shot up, impressed, as he read the notes, and no sooner had he done so, then he shoved his chair back, letting the pages drift to the desktop even as he hurried from the room.

He found Eileen in the kitchen, scrubbing the breakfast dishes, and tapped her shoulder to get her attention, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture when she jumped and whirled at his touch.

“I’m so sorry to startle you,” he said, when she pressed a hand against her heart. He knew the sign for “sorry” and added that. “When you have a moment, could you please come see me in the study?”

He returned to his work, and soon was greeted by a tapping on the partially open door, followed by Eileen herself. She still held herself stiffly, hovering by the edge of the desk.

“Please, sit,” Sam offered. “I hope I haven’t done anything to make you uncomfortable?”

“No, nothing,” she denied, pulling out the chair, though her eyes drifted to the file in front of him. 

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. She was simply wary of his reaction to her notes, and that was easily fixed.

“I want to thank you for catching that loophole I overlooked in Mrs. LaCroix’s will.” 

Eileen actually coloured. “I realise I should not have been reading through your work, but I was dusting and it caught my eye.”

“No, no,” Sam hastened to assure her. “I’m glad you did. Though I keep telling you that your evenings are your own. But it would have been very embarrassing if I had overlooked it, and caused no end of problems with the heirs. How did you realise the problem?”

“I’ve always taken an interest in the law,” Eileen admitted. “I’ve studied every text I could get my hands on, though of course I could not pursue the profession.”

“You’re self-taught?” Sam’s admiration for his housekeeper swelled. His admiration for her mind, he assured himself, as if that wasn’t recommendation enough to his heart. “Would you consider offering your insight on documents for other clients as well?” he asked shyly. “I would of course compensate you accordingly.”

\---

Eileen had accepted Sam’s offer, and had stayed for some time, reading over his work, and making notes in the margins in a tidy hand that Sam was unwillingly enamored with. She had eventually excused herself to prepare the luncheon, which she ate with Sam at his invitation. They had repeated this pattern over the next few days, whenever he was not with a client, but today, no sooner had she finished eating, than she had begged off to do the marketing. She had left, and Sam’s office had immediately felt empty, which was a ridiculous thought. Luckily, he had not been alone to moon - because that was what he was doing, he realised in some embarrassment - for long, because his two o’clock appointment was ringing the bell.

“My,” Arthur Ketch said now, as he surveyed Sam’s study with a supercilious brow, “What a charming situation you have here. You must be very proud of how well you have done in your profession.” He said the word “profession” as if it might be catching. 

Sam grit his teeth. Ketch’s attitude was not unusual for his class, those whose money was far enough distant from any sort of toil that they could not conceive of any dignity in those who earned a living. Sam was not ashamed of his profession. He was _not_. Nor was he ashamed that his Uncle Bobby’s fortune came from trade. Nevertheless, facing down what Ketch no doubt considered generous condescension, he could not help but recall that his mother had been disowned by her family, or that his father had died a smuggler’s death. Internally he winced. Externally, he smiled blandly and offered his guests a glass of brandy.

“I didn’t expect you to come in person,” he addressed Ketch, who was tapping a bored fingernail against his glass. “Mr. Davies and I have dealt very well together.”

“Quite,” Mr. Ketch agreed, pausing his contemplation of the amber liquid to take a sip. “Adequate,” he declared. He straightened in his chair and tapped his fingertips together. “I have come, as you say, in person, because this is in the nature of a delicate matter.” His mouth pulled into a moue of displeasure.

“I can assure you my complete discretion,” Sam promised.

“I should hope so. You will recall that you have dealt with documents concerning the legal status of a property in Ireland?”

“The property is held in trust, if I recall?” Sam flipped through the papers in front of him in search of the relevant documents.

“Precisely. I have been entrusted with safeguarding the estate, and a substantial inheritance, which will fall upon my cousin when she reaches the age of five and twenty. And, of course, of safeguarding my dear cousin herself. And therein lies the problem.”

“You see,” Ketch continued, “my cousin is not well. To have all that inheritance fall upon her, would spell disaster, both for her and for those dependant upon the holding. She would be vulnerable to every sort of predator.” He shook his head. 

Sam frowned. “Surely, you would see to it that she is not taken advantage of.”

“Precisely,” Ketch agreed. “And the best way to do so is to continue to act as guardian, to continue to govern her funds and property in her name, even once she comes of age. It is the best way to allow me to protect her. I would consider it but a small sacrifice to continue to manage her interests on top of my own.”

Sam mulled it over. “Would she be willing to sign her name to such an agreement? I can draw something up that would allow her to grant you permission to act in her stead.”

“You’re a good man, Winchester.” Ketch finished his drink. “I will have Mr. Davies come by tomorrow to fetch it, and then I suppose I am off to Ireland to collect my dear cousin’s signature. I am sure I can persuade her to see the wisdom of this arrangement.”

\---

Eileen had accepted Sam’s offer to assist in his legal business in the spirit in which it was intended - as the closest she could come to practicing law herself - and she was grateful for it. The offer of additional compensation had been unnecessary, but spoke well of his character. They had spent a few enjoyable days working together, and her pride could not help but be gratified by the evidence of his admiration for her mind.

That being said, she had also accepted the offer knowing that he was meeting with Cousin Arthur later that day. 

She had excused herself on the pretext of some marketing, which was not strictly necessary, and had made herself scarce until she was certain that Arthur would have taken himself off again - it would not do for him to discover her and expose her true purpose, or her true station in life - but she had hopes that Sam would make her privy to Arthur’s latest move.

Despite her preparation, she had to bite back her anger as she read over the letter that had been prepared, just waiting for her signature, which would surrender all her fortune and property to Arthur, leaving her only a small allowance, and leaving all the tenants of her family’s holdings subject to his indefinite neglect and greed.

Arthur must truly think she was dull-witted if he believed this would work. He had already tried to persuade and threaten her in person, and had not been put off by her refusal. It seemed he thought that showing up with an official document would cow her into submission. 

“Do you have any suggestions for the letter?” Sam asked, once she was finished reading.

“No, none.” It did not matter what the letter said, Arthur would present himself at Aunt Lillian’s only to find that Eileen herself was gone, and if he were to prove himself even more of a blackguard than she suspected, and forge her signature, well, then she would reveal herself and denounce him. 

“Perhaps tonight,” she offered, changing the subject, “we could have another lesson on Braidwood’s method.

Over the next few weeks, they settled into a kind of peaceful domesticity. Their days were spent working together on legal business, often eating together in the study as well. When Sam entertained clients, Eileen would excuse herself to tend to the household chores. Most evenings were spent in each other's company as well, sometimes continuing Sam’s lessons, but just as often sitting quietly with their own reading, or conversing about their lives. Eileen had learned to be vague in her anecdotes, to avoid giving the impression that she was anything but a housekeeper, albeit one with some education and a self-taught interest in law.

That was her one frustration. The more she came to know of Sam - his kindness, his cleverness, his respect for her intelligence - the more she wished she could be honest with him. If she was honest with herself, she could admit that she was falling in love with him. It was most inconvenient.


	5. Chapter 5

One evening in late summer, a cozy lesson in the drawing room was interrupted by the sound of the bell. “Pardon me,” Sam signed to Eileen. “I must get the door.” By her smile and nod, he knew he had made no mistakes.

Curious as to who could be calling at this hour, he opened the door to the sight of his brother, who promptly thrust a letter under his nose. “This is the letter you forwarded to me. Read this.”

Dutifully, Sam read. “Good god,” he uttered faintly as he reached the end.

“That’s what I said,” Dean agreed. “Cas thought I was choking on my bacon when I read it.”

“Who’s Cas?” Sam asked, belatedly stepping aside to allow his brother into the house.

“Castiel Shurley,” Dean answered as casually as if it were nothing to be breakfasting and on a first name basis with the son of the family that had once thrown him out and blackened his name. “I didn’t even know the old buzzard was still alive, did you? Not that he is anymore,” he changed the subject back to the contents of the letter, announcing the death of Sam and Dean’s maternal grandfather, and naming Dean the sole heir. “I read the thing and came straight here. If anyone knows what this all means, it’s you.”

“Of course. I’ll contact this Mr. Adler first thing tomorrow. For now, I’ll have Mrs. Leahy make you up a room.”

“And how is Mrs. Leahy?” Dean enquired, all innocence, grinning wickedly when his brother blushed.

\---

Dean stayed two weeks, while Sam and Mr. Adler hashed out the details of the will and made arrangements for Dean to take on his newly inherited property. More than once he had offered to share his sudden wealth with Sam, who had turned him down on principle. He was comfortably settled, in a profession he enjoyed, and felt no need for the money of a grandfather he had never known, one who had turned his back on Sam and Dean’s mother, his only child.

“Are you sure you will not take any of the money? It doesn't seem right, the old man leaving it all to me, and nothing to you," Dean tried one last time, on the night before he was due to depart. "You could have enough money to marry on."

Sam flushed, but admitted, "I do have enough for that." 

"Well then." Dean raised his eyebrows significantly at his brother. "What are you waiting for?"

Sam shrugged sheepishly. "I don't know. It has simply never felt like the right time." Every time he had thought about it, he had wondered if such an advance from her employer, friends or not, would strike Eileen as inappropriate. Perhaps if he had more time, he could determine if she truly felt the same way.

"Trust me, Sam. It's the right time. If you have the opportunity for real love, to be together, it is always the right time." There was something strangely earnest in Dean’s tone.

–-

Arthur Ketch did not have an appointment, but that did not stop him from bursting in upon Sam later the next afternoon. Sam led him to the study, where he quickly shuffled aside the book from which he was attempting to memorize the signs for a heartfelt marriage proposal; Dean’s advice had hit home, now it was merely a matter of bringing himself up to scratch.

“You seem agitated,” he remarked to Ketch, who paced the length of the carpet and then back.

Ketch glared, then gathered up his usual suave manner, taking an elegant seat. “You will forgive me. I am in a position to be deeply worried for my cousin.”

“Has something happened?” Sam inquired.

Ketch’s lips thinned. “Indeed. Prior to my previous appointment, I had visited her to impress upon her the wisdom of allowing me to remain in the capacity of her guardian. She is headstrong, and rejected the proposition outright. I have mentioned that she is not well. In truth, she lacks the capacity to listen, to understand. I had hopes that she could be brought around to see reason through the written word, and wrote her several times to persuade her to allow me to care for her interests. When I received no reply, I came to you. I had hoped that by presenting her with the document, everything might be resolved, but when I arrived at the home of her maternal aunt, it was to discover that my cousin had run away. That she had, in fact, been missing for several weeks, and I had not been notified.”

Sam’s eyes grew wide. “Did her aunt have no concern for her well-being?”

“The woman seems to believe she is able to take care of herself. I must confess myself deeply disappointed. My cousin was left in her care in the belief that it would be kindest for her to grow up in a smaller household, but now I find that her aunt has been a thoroughly negligent caregiver. I have spent the last several weeks seeking her whereabouts.”

If Ketch’s cousin had gone missing before his first appointment with Sam, she had been missing for several months at this point. “Has she been found? Is she safe?”

Ketch’s lips pressed into a thin line. “All efforts are being made to recover her safely. I have no doubt she will be returned to our family’s bosom soon. But you must see the necessity of what I will ask you. If this is her response to my attempts to obtain her permission to safeguard her interests, then it becomes imperative, for her own well-being, that my poor cousin be declared incompetent. I must be allowed to protect her from herself.”

“I will do anything I can to help,” Sam assured him, his thoughts on that poor girl. “I will have to draw something up to submit to the courts for approval.” 

He saw Mr. Ketch to the door, and set to work. He could write his proposal to Eileen later.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam had been alight with excitement and nerves all day. It had been two days since Ketch had interrupted his practice, and he at last felt confident that he could sign his way through a very pretty proposal. He had planned it for that evening, as he and Eileen were in the habit of taking supper together these last weeks. For now, however, he glanced up from his work to watch her, her head bent over the will she was examining, making changes in her neat hand.

For once, he allowed his gaze to linger like a caress on the shell of her ear, the curve of her neck. It could not be too terribly improper if they were to be wed, and he had plenty of evidence, as well as his brother’s reassurances, that his sentiments were returned, and that Eileen would accept him.

He bit his lip. He wanted to do this properly, not merely blurt it out as they were working. To that end, he applied himself to finishing Mr. Ketch’s petition. 

He finished around the same time as Eileen finished with the will, and they exchanged their work. He had no sooner begun to examine her notes, when she made an inarticulate sound. He looked up to find her white-faced and trembling, not in fear but in rage, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, belatedly remembering the signs.

“What is this?” she demanded, voice thin with tension. Without waiting for a response, she added. “Declaring me incompetent, was that his idea or yours?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sam snapped, immediately on the defensive at the accusation in her tone, though with a cold horror, understanding was beginning to dawn.

“That swine,” she seethed. “So this was his plan.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” he demanded for his own part, “That you know Mr. Ketch? That you infiltrated my household, and my trust solely to ferret out his business?”The cold spread through him like a web of cracks as he realized how he had been taken in.

“And you!” she turned on him. “You would have aided him!”

“Perhaps,” Sam said icily, sinking back into his chair, “you had better explain yourself, Mrs. Leahy. Start from the beginning”

Eileen’s eyes flashed, but she did not back down. “Very well. I am not Mrs. Leahy. I am Miss Leahy. Arthur Ketch is my third cousin, the closest living relative on my father’s side. When my parents died, his father became my legal guardian, and he was to hold the property and my inheritance in trust until I came of age.

“I did not live with them, you understand. I was sent to live with my maternal aunt, and we lived modestly, though she was paid a quarterly allowance from my money. I saw Cousin Arthur only very occasionally, and remember him mostly for thrashing the other children when no one was looking.

“Arthur’s father died two years ago, and my trust fell into his hands. He began by making insinuations that as a mere woman, and a deaf woman at that, that I could have no real need for my inheritance, that I would be better to continue to live a retired spinster existence. Worse, he has proven himself the worst sort of landlord, demanding more profits than the land can give, neglecting the needs of the tenants, and roundly abusing those who oppose him.

“Several months ago, he dared to voice his threats openly - that he would find a way to separate me from my inheritance, and to keep it for himself. I began in earnest to search for a way to thwart him. I came here in hopes of discovering his plan, and now I’ve found it - to have me declared incompetent, with your help!”

Sam swallowed, feeling a lump of guilt lodge itself in his breast. “I swear, I did not know that you were the cousin in question.”

“So you would have no qualms about doing this to another woman?”

His nostrils flared in anger. “I was given a very different recounting of events. I am not in the wrong for taking my client at his word. Just as I took you at your word, when all this time your only purpose -” he deflated. “I had intended to ask you to marry me.” 

Eileen laughed bitterly. “Perhaps this will teach you to ask questions. What kind of housekeeper simply shows up, with no references, claiming to be from an agency? What kind of man wants to hold on to a fortune only out of the goodness of his heart.”

Sam grimaced at the truth of her words, and rubbed a tired hand over his face. “I won’t assist him further with this. You may have my word on that.”

“It won’t matter.” Eileen’s signs were choppy with frustration. “If you will not assist him, there are countless other solicitors who will. There is too much time before I inherit. He will have me out of the way long before then.”

“Perhaps there’s something to be done. Let me see that will again.”

Still wary, Eileen fetched Ketch’s file, and retrieved the copy of her father’s will, which spelled out her inheritance and the trust it had been placed under. Sam read through the document, eyes sharp for anything they could use. “Here,” he said at last. He stabbed a finger down on a clause. “You come into your inheritance on your twenty-fifth birthday, or upon your wedding day.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I have a share in the responsibility for bringing you to this impasse. My offer of marriage stands, if it will help you recover what is yours. Naturally, under the circumstances, it need be a marriage in name only. I will sign any papers you ask, renouncing my claim to your money.”

Eileen considered. “We would need to elope,” she declared at last, ever practical. Forestalling Sam’s arguments, she added, “We cannot have the banns read. Arthur would find out and interfere. We must not give him the time.”

“Does that mean you accept my proposal?”

“Yes,” she signed curtly. Clearly, after this fracas, no finer feelings would be involved. “I will pack for a dash to the border. You ought to do the same.”

\---

If Sam had been told that he would one day make the dash to Gretna Green in a hired coach to engage in a marriage of convenience with his housekeeper, he would not have credited it. “A marriage of inconvenience, more like,” he had muttered to himself as he had thrown together the contents of a travelling case for the journey. Already, though, his anger was directed as much at himself as at Eileen. He had always thought it rather rackety behaviour on his father’s part to have run off with young Mary Campbell, even if they had been in love, and the circumstances of John Winchester’s death had always borne out Sam’s feeling that his father had not been an honourable man. And yet, here Sam was, unable to shake the sense that he had been very dishonourable indeed.

For the first part of the journey, stoney silence reigned in the carriage, and Eileen kept her hands tightly folded in her lap, making it clear she had no wish to communicate. Early on, Sam had attempted an apology for the havey-cavey manner of their elopement, and she had shut her eyes, feigning sleep. The poorly sprung carriage, however, had not allowed her to maintain the illusion for long, and they had spent an uncomfortable few hours, simply looking at each other with nothing to say.

After a particularly violent jolt nearly sent them careening into the sides of the carriage, Sam had steadied her, and at last Eileen had sighed and relented somewhat, at least to the degree of hashing out the practicalities of their marriage.

They spent the night in a small coaching inn. For the sake of Eileen’s reputation, they lied and pretended they were already a married couple, on a journey to visit an aged relation. The room they rented was not the inn’s best, and there was only one bed, with a lumpy straw mattress. Sam excused himself while Eileen undressed, and only returned once the counterpane was pulled up to her neck. She was not asleep, and he could feel her eyes on him as he loosened his neckcloth and undid his waistcoat, before settling into the wooden chair where he would spend the night.

–-

The second day of the journey was punctuated by Sam shifting and grimacing, as he tried to find a comfortable position in the carriage, his back evidently suffering from a night spent in a hard wooden chair. With the practical details hashed out the day before, there was little enough to say to each other, and Eileen spent most of the journey gazing absently out the window, doing very little about the maudlin tide that threatened to overtake her.

It was ridiculous to be sorry about the marriage she was entering into, she chided herself. Many women married for reasons other than love, and given her disadvantages and her retired, rural upbringing she had never really held out much hope in that direction. Instead, her inheritance would have allowed her to live as a spinster in relative comfort, and for much of her life, that had been her highest aspiration. 

So she would not be silly and mourn the fact that she was not marrying for love. Except that, had the revelations of two days ago not occurred, she might well have been.

It was a depressing thought. She pressed her forehead to the windowpane and sighed. Could there be any going back?

The room at the inn they chose that night was not much larger than the last, though the bed was of better quality, and the chairs upholstered. Tucked up under the bedclothes, Eileen watched Sam attempt to settle himself in one of these, changing position every few seconds to no avail. Finally, she could take it no longer. 

She pulled the counterpane aside. “You might as well join me. The bed is big enough for two, and we shall be married soon enough, after all.”

Sam hesitated. “I would not want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I am uncomfortable just watching you. Come lay down.”

Sam did as he was bid, and despite herself, she was shocked by her body’s acute awareness of his large, warm presence scant inches from her own. Determinedly, she shut her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

She awoke with the sun some hours later, to find herself curled under a muscular arm. For a long moment, she wanted only to drowse, feeling inexplicably safe, but then she remembered herself and huffed, shaking herself free, irritated at her own folly. Sam blinked up at her, mumbling something she could not read. Ignoring him, she turned to her morning ablutions, freshening herself as best she could for another long day on the road.

“I’m sorry,” Sam signed to her once the coach was underway. 

She looked up in surprise from the pastry she was nibbling.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, speaking as well as signing this time. “I am sorry for what your cousin put you through, and I am sorry for my part in it. I would prefer not to be hostile with you.” He extended a hand, which she eyed warily, before taking it. They shook on their ceasefire. 

“I did not like to betray you,” she admitted. “I should not have stayed in your employ half so long as I did, but I liked you and did not wish to leave.”

They travelled some distance without words, before she admitted, her gaze averted, “If things had been different, I would have accepted your proposal.”

After they stopped for a quick luncheon, the mood in the carriage was considerably lightened. They passed the time in shyly pointing out the sights on the road, feeling their way back to their previous easy camaraderie, and, when the road grew particularly bad, Sam joined Eileen on her bench, so that they could brace each other against the jolts of the poorly sprung carriage.

They reached Gretna Green mid-afternoon the next day. They had shared a bed again the night before, and had woken that morning entangled and embarrassed, but on considerably better terms with each other.

The blacksmiths in Gretna Green were famous for presiding over irregular marriages, so they made their way to the nearest smithy, to secure one of these anvil priests to do the honours. The ceremony was short and underwhelming, with the blacksmith’s apprentice, and another local man to stand as witnesses, and Eileen found herself wondering if she would have preferred a proper wedding in a church, banns and all. Watching Sam’s face, however, so earnest, despite their agreement that this was now a marriage of convenience only, she didn’t think she would.


	7. Chapter 7

Once married, they wasted no time in locating the nearest inn and securing a private room.

“We’ll need to notify the bank where your funds are held, your land manager, your cousin himself,” Sam listed off.

“Your family, my aunt,” Eileen interjected, her lips quirking upwards.

“Of course, but I’m more concerned with securing your future right now. Why don’t you start with the bank, while I draft the agreement that will renounce my claim to your inheritance?”

They worked side by side in silence, until Eileen finally set her pen down with a flourish. “Finished.” She handed the page to Sam, who read it over, the letter which would be notarized and sent to Ketch and which stated in no uncertain terms that he was relieved of his responsibilities towards his cousin, her land, or her fortune. It also laid out a number of stipulations that if followed would prevent her husband from suing him on her behalf.

“It’s criminal that you cannot be called to the bar,” Sam told her. “I’ve thought so since the first time you made notes on my work.”

Eileen frowned. “You do know the only reason I read those papers was because I was looking for dirt on Arthur?”

“I do know, and I understand now.”

“You do?”

“If it had been anyone but you, Ketch would have succeeded, and all because I trusted his word. You were not wrong to look out for your interests. I am sorry, and I hope we can cry friends.”

“Cry friends?” Eileen’s lips twisted wryly. “We have just been married.”

“I had not wished to presume.”

“As evidenced by the fact that we have spent our wedding night writing legal documents.”

Sam looked at her. With her dark hair coming loose from its knot, a smudge of ink upon her cheek, and a glint of humour in her eye, she was as lovely as she had ever been. “Do you wish for a proper wedding night?”

She fixed him with a look. “Sam, don’t be an idiot. Kiss me.”

Sam’s kiss was gentle at first, tentative and close-mouthed, but when she responded, it soon grew hungry and possessive, fueled by too many nights holding himself back in fear of becoming the dishonourable employer. In short order, he was undoing the buttons down the front of her dress, while she deftly drew pins from her hair, letting it tumble down her back in a dark wave.

When she was down to her shift, Sam took a step back, so she could read his lips when he told her, “You are beautiful.” She responded with a laugh, and shoved his coat from his shoulders, reaching for the tails of his shirt to pull it loose.

They fell to the bed, still half clothed, and her eyes glinted up at him as he hurried to undo his falls, and shoved his trousers to his knees. She rucked her shift up about her waist, and hooked one slim ankle around his thigh, pulling him in until the hard heat of him pressed up against her, where she was wet with wanting him.

He pulled back again, so they could see each others’ faces. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sam,” she demanded. “Now.”

He entered her in one smooth thrust, and oh! She was no missish girl, no stranger to the pleasure she could bring herself, but she had never felt so full, had never experienced the slow glide as he withdrew, and the sparks that shot up her spine as he thrust back in.

She could feel him muttering something against her throat, his breath hot on her skin, and she wrapped her legs tighter around him, urging him on faster and harder, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair. He reared back, and she immediately missed his weight pressing her into the mattress, but then his mouth was on hers, devouring, and she was kissing back just as hungrily.

She was so close, and she slipped one hand down between her legs to help herself along, just as one of Sam’s large hands cupped her breast, fingers sliding teasingly over her nipple, and then she was arching and crying out beneath him, vision shattering into stars.

He gasped something into her open mouth, and then she felt warmth flood her insides as he followed her over the edge.

He held himself above her on trembling arms while he caught his breath, before carefully withdrawing, and slumping onto the mattress beside her, leaving her deliciously tender and still softly aroused.

He gently touched her hair to get her attention, and said and signed, “That was -” before trailing off, seeming at a loss for words to describe the experience.

She laughed. “It was. I intend to do it again soon.” Her smile felt like it would split her face.

He groaned exaggeratedly. “You’ll have to give me some time.”

“I can wait.”

When he recovered, she nudged him onto his back, and rode him, relishing the burn in her muscles, and the way he gazed up at her with an awed expression, even as she worked them both faster towards their climax.

“You’re magnificent!” He removed one hand from where it braced her hip to sign, “Eileen.”

“Sam,” she gasped, tears prickling her eyes.

Later, Sam played with her hair as they lay tangled in each other and nothing else. “I could do the same thing to you,” she teased, turning a radiant smile on him.

His eyes shone. “I love you,” he told her simply. “Despite your cousin’s perfidy, I am glad it brought you to me.”

She blinked away the tears that wanted to form again. “I’m glad, too. This is, ‘I love you.’” She demonstrated, and he copied the movement. “Good. Do it again.”

\---

From Scotland, they travelled directly to Ireland. They stopped first at Eileen’s Aunt Lillian’s, while they sent word ahead to the skeleton staff at the hall to expect them in a fortnight. Any doubts Lillian O’Grady might have had about the man who had eloped with her niece, after employing her in service of all things, were set aside when she observed her dogs gamboling about Sam, who seemed as taken with them as they were with him.

“They have excellent taste in character,” she assured Eileen.

This was proven only a week later when Arthur Ketch showed his face at the door. The dogs, usually gentle giants if there ever were such a thing, greeted him with bared teeth and nervous growls. In turn, he shoved them away from himself none too gently with a silver tipped walking stick, and meticulously picked their hairs from his breeches before he would deign to seat himself in the drawing room.

“I don’t know why you have come,” Lillian greeted him with her usual plain-spokenness. “Your obligations in this country have ended with Eileen’s marriage, and Lord knows you’ve no love for us, nor us for you. Surely you haven’t come to offer your cousin and her Mr. Winchester your congratulations.”

Ketch turned his sneer on Sam. “Oh, I do think congratulations are in order. How did you do it, Winchester? I tell you that my cousin has a fortune ripe for the picking, and you manage to find and marry her in mere weeks. How could you take advantage of a defenseless young woman like that?”

“Oh please,” Eileen spoke up. She had read his lips while Ketch overlooked her entirely. “The only one who sought to take advantage of me was you.”

“My dear,” he turned his smoothest manners on her. “I sought only to protect your interests.”

“By having me declared incompetent?”

“Surely you must realise why you need extra protection, cousin. You simply lack the capabilities to ward yourself against any blackguard who comes your way, as your ill-advised marriage clearly shows. It is not too late, if you would like me to make him disappear, you know, and then I could manage your affairs for you once again.”

“She seems quite capable to me,” Sam remarked casually, not reacting to the threat.

“A good deal more capable than you,” Eileen added, “Or is it not true that you were living entirely on my money, and that without it, you’re nigh bankrupt?” Sam, who had not been privy to this information, turned an impressed look upon her, and she smirked back. “I would be happy to teach you about economy,” she added, and this was the straw that broke Ketch’s composure, because his complexion turned mottled, and he lunged towards her.

“Why you little -” he began, but did not finish the sentence, for one of the wolfhounds had clamped onto his hand with it’s massive jaw, and he howled in pain as his bones crunched. He went to lift his stick against the beast, but found that Lillian had appropriated it, and pointed it towards the door.

“Out,” she declared. “Before I have the magistrate fetched for threatening my niece. You have no more power in these parts, sir.”

Ketch swore, knowing himself defeated. “Call off your cur, then, and I’ll go.”

“Drop it, Juliet,” Lillian admonished, and the dog obligingly released Ketch with a warning growl, trotting over to rest her head on her mistress’s knee.

Ketch paused in the doorway. “Good riddance to you all. And Winchester? You may consider yourself fired.”

Sam acknowledged the blow with an ironic tilt of his brow.


	8. Epilogue

After their visit with Lillian, they travelled next to the hall, where they stayed some days, familiarizing themselves with the estate and with the needs of the tenants, who had suffered in recent years from Ketch’s greed. Several days were given over solely to arranging for much-needed repairs to the tenant cottages. The hall itself was in good shape, though it had stood mostly empty for many years, and the rooms that had not yet been opened for their use stood silent and still, all the furniture draped in holland covers.

“It’s strange,” Eileen confided to Sam one evening, after a busy day. “In a way, this house has belonged to me all my life, and yet it doesn’t feel like it at all. I was only an infant when I was made to quit it, and until your house in London, Aunt Lillian’s was the only place I ever thought of as home.”

That led to the much-needed consideration of what to do about the house in London and Sam’s practise. Even if he could re-establish himself here, and find new clients, an estate of this size would require more time than he could spare while practicing law as well. Eileen was also reluctant to set herself up as the lady of the manor.

“Which is not to say that we will not be hiring a proper housekeeper,” she cautioned.

In the end, they invited Lillian to move into the hall, and with the help of a land steward, oversee the estate. Delighted with the prospect of more space for her dogs, she gladly accepted. Sam and Eileen returned to London, where Sam found new clients to replace the one he had lost in Arthur Ketch, who was thoroughly disgraced these days. Among these new clients, Sam gained a reputation for being supernaturally efficient and thorough, and if that was due to his wife involving herself in every aspect of his legal practise, well, that was between the two of them.

Before anyone could quite credit it, several months had passed, and their families were descending upon them for Christmas. Uncle Bobby came bearing obscure books of legal theory and an unexpected knowledge of Braidwood’s system, and Aunt Lillian with a wolfhound puppy with whom Sam was immediately enamoured. Dean arrived, inexplicably with his land steward in tow. Even more inexplicably, said land steward turned out to be Mr. Castiel Shurley, the brother of the Earl of Milton, but as the two men seemed to be inordinately fond of each other, Sam chose to say nothing and revel in his brother’s happiness. 

It was a genial, boisterous gathering, and yet late Christmas Eve found the rest of the household in bed, and Sam and Eileen seated across from each other at the scarred kitchen worktable. The housekeeper had been sent home to enjoy Christmas with her family, and there was a pot of tea between them. The puppy slumbered across the top of Sam’s feet. It was a perfect moment.

“I love you,” Sam signed, without speaking aloud. 

Eileen’s eyes sparkled. “You old romantic,” she signed. “I love you, too.”


End file.
